


The Fourfold Shadow

by thelightofmorning



Series: A Tale of Shadows [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Class Issues, Corpse Desecration, Crimes & Criminals, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantastic Racism, Fix-It, Fuck the Thalmor, Genocide, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Misogyny, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyfidelity, Prequel, Religious Conflict, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning
Summary: Gallus and Karliah cross the border to save the Thieves of Bruma after the Thalmor's purge. They pick up an infiltrator named Vex and a Blade named Irkand. It changes their lives forever.Polyamorous prequel to a new AU I'll pursue when university's done for the year.





	The Fourfold Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, war crimes, imprisonment, misogyny, alcohol use, classism, criminal acts, religious conflict, corpse desecration, emotional trauma and mentions of genocide, torture and child death. AU inspired by discussions with SoulStealer1987.

 

“By the shadows…”

            Karliah’s breathless murmur said it all. Cloud Ruler Temple was still smoking and Gallus wouldn’t put too high a bet on all of the crucified people in the courtyard being mercifully dead. Two figures confronted each other as the ash and snow fell down like a shroud.

            “Your family are traitors,” said one in a voice of silky malice. “The Emperor allowed us to extract the punishment from them for their crimes against the Aldmeri Dominion.”

            “Not all of them. What of the children?” the other demanded.

            “What of them? Better to purge the world of filth than let it fester.” The Thalmor agent sighed in mock sympathy. “One of them was your niece, correct? If you give me identifying details, I’ll hand over her body for burial.”

            Gallus had never seen a man move so fast. The Blade (what else could he be) had pulled out an ebony longknife and stabbed the Altmer several times. By the time he’d broken free of the shadows and run up the stairs, the womer was on the ground bleeding out with the Blade about to land the finishing blow.

            “Come on,” he hissed. “There’s more coming from Bruma. They’ve butchered nearly everyone down there.”

            “My family-“ the Blade began.

            “Are dead or gone.” Gallus grabbed his wrist and began to drag him away. “Dying here won’t bring them back or find them.”

            “Search the ruins!” ordered a haughty male voice from below. “We haven’t accounted for the First, Second, Third or Fourth Blades!”

            The Blade cast a baleful glance below before nodding. “Let’s go.”

…

Their new friend turned out to be one Irkand Aurelius, the Third Blade of the Blades, and the person he stabbed was the wife of the mer butchering Bruma’s Talos worshippers. He led them and the few Thief survivors to a tunnel under the Jeralls he called the Serpent’s Trail, an old Akaviri escape route. There were small caves with fresh ashes in the firepits, suggesting others had taken this path too. Gallus didn’t know whether to be hopeful or not. Irkand’s round face was a bleak funeral mask.

            They emerged in the foothills above Helgen and Gallus inhaled the fresh snow-scented air. The Bruma of his youth was destroyed by the Thalmor and it would never come back, even if rebuilt.

            “It’s not your fault,” Vex told a silent Irkand. The albino infiltrator had been one of the orphans plucked from an Imperial workhouse by the Blades and trained to be a spy. At the age of eighteen, when she could legally make her own decisions, she gave them the finger and used the skills she was taught to disappear. Gallus wondered if Arius and the Fifth Blade knew that she’d been living in Bruma under their noses the entire time.

            “Why do you say that?” Irkand asked, his voice hoarse.

            “Because Arius was batshit insane and the Blades tried to take over Fort Pale Pass,” Vex told him bluntly. “News of the White-Gold Concordat arrived a few days before the Thalmor did. Instead of telling his people to scatter, your father decided to launch a rebellion that failed horribly.”

            “Fuck me, Vex, has no one told you you’ve got the social grace of a fuckin’ sload?” remarked one of the other survivors, a hard-eyed Nord named Glover Mallory. He was a blacksmith of some kind with kin in the High Rock Guild.

            “It’s true and I’m telling him it’s not his fault,” Vex protested. “Arius got ‘em killed, not Irkand because he was fighting with the Legion.”

            Karliah and Gallus exchanged looks. The Skyrim Guild was short of people because several caught a bad case of patriotism and joined the Legion – except for Gillam, who decided to join the Reacher army that took over Markarth. Mercer was left with a skeleton crew until they returned to Riften.

            “No one expected things to be this bad,” the Guild Master finally said. “Each of you has skills that will help the Guild prosper in these times of chaos. But if you want, you can leave. Make a new name for yourself far away from Skyrim and Cyrodiil.”

            Glover looked troubled. “How far is far away, Gallus? The Thalmor will hunt down anyone with the remotest connection to the Blades. I used to forge some of their katanas and armour if Janus Break-the-Spear wasn’t available.”

            “I don’t know, Glover,” Gallus admitted. “But we’re shorthanded in Riften because some of our people joined the Legion. Things will be lean for a bit… but I promise, we will prosper and thrive in this new world.”

            Irkand’s face was blank. “I only intend to let the Thalmor and Titus Mede get complacent. Then I will kill them.”

            “If you want to join the Brotherhood, I can put in a word for you,” Gallus told him softly.

            Vex snorted. “That’ll be the first place they look for you, Irkand. Take up infiltration and steal secrets. If you know what you’re doing, you’ll cause them more damage that way.”

            “I might as well go with you. Might call Delvin back from Daggerfall. The pond’s a bit small there with so many Thieves,” Glover said.

            “I’m in, of course,” Vex assured Gallus. “Being a freelance spy doesn’t pay much.”

            Irkand shrugged. “I have no other choice. I will go with you.”

            Gallus nodded. “Then let’s go. The Legion will probably arrive in days.”

…

“Gallus? I need to tell you something.”

            The Guildmaster looked up to see Irkand in the doorway to his office. Riftweald Manor belonged to the Guild, picked up for a song at a debtor’s auction, and the ranking Guildsfolk lived there. Two years after the Great War, they were recovering, and a few new faces filled the Cistern. One of them was Gillam’s auburn-haired son, an angry lad named Bryn, and he bid fair to take his father’s place as Day Master in a few years if he learned to channel his hatred of the Nordic Talos worshippers calling themselves Stormcloaks. Irkand himself served under the name Corvus.

            Gallus stifled a pang of grief at the loss of Gillam mac Bothela, dead at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak as he held the gates of Markarth to allow King Madanach to escape, and nodded to the spare seat at the desk. “Sit down. You make me nervous when you hover.”

            Irkand obeyed and Gallus leaned back in his cushioned chair, studying him. The Redguard wore the black leathers of a Master, having taken over command of the Night shift when Mercer Frey transferred to the Evening one, and his serene expression revealed little. One of the Brotherhood assassins said that he could beat a man to death with a hammer and still remain eerily calm. Astrid wouldn’t tell him how she knew that, only that one of the Hammerfell Dark Brothers knew him from the Blades.

            “What is it?” Gallus asked finally.

            “It’s Mercer. The man is hiding something.”

            “We’re Thieves, Corvus. We’re all hiding something.”

            Gallus’ joke didn’t make the Redguard laugh. “He is concealing something dire. I think he’s breaking the rules somehow. Have you noticed that he’s living more luxuriously than the rest of us?”

            “He comes from a wealthy merchant family in Wayrest,” Gallus reminded him.

            “I’ve never known the merchant family that could afford Stros M’kai rum and Iliac caviar on a regular basis,” Irkand countered mildly. “It’s more than that, Gallus. He’s using a new set of weapons that are worth their weight in diamonds – ebony that’s been twice-enchanted. Glover tells me that there’s maybe two or three smiths in Skyrim who could make them. And no, they’re not heirlooms. The ebony engraving is still sharp and fresh.”

            Gallus steepled his fingers. He’d noted Frey’s new weapons himself. “We all run the odd dodge on the side, Irkand. Except you. You’re too honest to.”

            “A man only gets those kind of weapons if he plans to use them. Mercer’s looking fitter and moving faster too. In fact, his physical skills have improved faster than is typically possible.” Irkand shifted in his seat. “I would think he was using Alteration spells… but I haven’t seen him spell-cast once.”

            Gallus leaned forward. “I don’t understand.”

            “Physical conditioning takes time,” Irkand said patiently. “Do you think I run, perform calisthenics and practice acrobatics for three hours a day for shits and giggles? I’ve trained every day since the age of six and I’m probably the fittest, fastest member of the Guild. To surpass me would require time and effort, none of which Frey has evidenced, yet he’s beating me on the running track.”

            Gallus studied Irkand. His sleeveless black jerkin revealed olive-bronze muscle that was just right, every motion he made was economical, and there was never a sense of wasted energy around him. Glover was stronger from his blacksmithing work and Vex more agile, but no one matched the ex-Blade for overall speed and endurance.

            “So you’re saying it’s magic?” Gallus finally said.

            “If it’s magic, it’s nothing I know. I can only assume that Mercer’s either acquired a Daedric artefact or made a deal with a dark power that’s allowed him to unlock his physical potential with no effort.”

            _Unlock-_ Gallus had a sinking feeling.

            “Say nothing. Give Karliah about a week to investigate,” he ordered.

            Irkand tilted his head. “You suspect something.”

            “Yes, and if I’m right, I’ll tell you. Until then, don’t let on to Mercer you’re aware of his… changes.”

            The ex-Blade inclined his head. “As you wish.”

…

“So kind of you to drop by, Karliah,” Mercer Frey sneered. “You’ll make the perfect scapegoat.”

            Gallus pulled himself into a sitting position, hand pressed to his side where Mercer had wounded him. He’d come alone, knowing it was a trap, hoping he could talk his fellow Nightingale into returning the Skeleton Key. He was wrong and now he was bleeding out and Karliah would be blamed for it.

            “Why?” he gasped.

            “You had the Guild and Karliah. All you had to do was look the other way,” Mercer answered, glancing to the side. “The Key is the source of unlimited wealth and power.”

            Taking his eyes off Karliah was a mistake. The violet-eyed Dunmer drew and fired an arrow within three heartbeats, the Daedric projectile striking Mercer in the chest. He swore and turned invisible, the air distorted around him, and Gallus called out weakly to warn Karliah.

            The shadows shattered around them, revealing Irkand, dual wazikashis catching Mercer’s descending ebony sword. One quick twist of the weapons ripped the renegade’s sword from his hands. Frey swore again and invoked the power of Strife, trying to draw Irkand’s life force from his body.

            But the blow meant to invoke it was interrupted by a wazikashi taking half the hand off. Pitiless and relentless as a Dwemer automaton, Irkand drove the other one through Mercer Frey’s eye, twisting it with an ugly noise.

            Karliah dropped her bow and ran to Gallus, pulling out a health potion. He gulped it down as Irkand finished the job by decapitating Mercer. It was a bad way to go and despite Mercer’s betrayal, Gallus felt a pang of grief.

            Between them, they got him outside to a wagon where Vex waited impatiently. The Skeleton Key was in Karliah’s hands and once he was safe, she would return it to the Twilight Sepulchre.

            “You told me to follow you,” Karliah told him as Vex handed her a healing scroll. “You didn’t tell me not to bring friends.”

            Gallus managed a shaky laugh. “No, I didn’t.”

            “I would have followed regardless,” Irkand said softly. “You are the Guildmaster.”

            “This isn’t the Blades and I don’t need mindless obedience and loyalty,” Gallus told him after Karliah used the healing scroll.

            “You think my obedience and loyalty is mindless?” Irkand asked. “How poorly you know me, Gallus Desidenius.”

             There was a tone to the Redguard’s words, a hint of sad yearning, that made Gallus look at him in a new light.

            Vex rolled her eyes. “Let’s not get sappy now. I have to get this thing to Winterhold.”

            “I told them about Enthir,” Karliah admitted sheepishly. “Vex has made some educated guesses about the Nightingales and Irkand a few about the Skeleton Key.”

            Gallus lay back with a sigh. Both the infiltrator and the former assassin would make excellent Nightingales, but there was only ever three. Could one be a backup Nightingale or something?

            “I’m not sure I wish to pledge myself to Nocturnal,” Irkand said slowly. “I have friends and family in Heaven’s Reach Temple I hope to join one day.”

            “Heaven’s Reach Temple?” Karliah asked with a wrinkled brow.

            “It’s said to be a part of Sovngarde reserved for the Blades, where they wait for the end of days and the final battle with Alduin World-Eater,” Vex explained. “Sounds right fucking tedious to me – no offence, Irkand.”

            “None taken,” the Redguard replied dryly. “The amusement of your presence among the Blades would pall after the first day.”

            Vex responded with a raised middle finger and Gallus laughed until his wound hurt. He couldn’t imagine life without either of them.

…

Gallus wasn’t sure when two became four. It wasn’t in Winterhold where Enthir perused notes on the Eyes of the Falmer nor was it in Riften where Gallus quietly bought up controlling shares in Black-Briar Meadery, Riften Fishery and Goldenglow Estate to keep Mercer’s ally Maven in check. He was fairly sure it didn’t happen when the Stormcloaks were put down after the Markarth massacres and Ulfric Stormcloak thrown into prison to rot. It could have been during the Stormsword’s three-year reign in Eastmarch, when unauthorised and well-supplied bandit clans began to infest the Holds bordering it, bandit clans that were vanquished by the Stormcloak militia. A survivor named Thrynn joined the Guild cursing her name and gave certain information to the coldly patient Irkand. Whatever the hulking warrior told him, the ex-Blade’s curses rang out across the Cistern to make Delvin Mallory blush in embarrassment.

            Two days later, Irkand called a meeting of the senior Guild members at Riftweald Manor. He’d handed over command of the Night shift to Delvin Mallory and as predicted, young Brynjolf was running the Day shift with all the verve and flair of his late father Gillam. Vex controlled the Evening shift and they all still answered to Gallus, though he was devolving some of his duties to Karliah and Irkand to give him time enough to translate Falmer enough to find the legendary Eyes. It had been ten years since the Great War and Skyrim existed in a troubled peace. But not as troubled as Irkand’s heart as he slowly peeled back the layers of fault, blame and betrayal around the fall of the Blades.

            “Most of you know the sad and sorry story by now,” Irkand said, leaning forward with his hands planted on the map-table. “Arius Aurelius launched a rebellion that led to the demise of the Blades after the signing of the White-Gold Concordat. He tried to take over Fort Pale Pass and failed miserably. What we didn’t know until now was how Titus Mede II was able to react so quickly to the situation.”

            “What’s this got to do with us?” Delvin asked.

            “Because the person who alerted Titus Mede to the rebellion is the same who’s been sponsoring those renegade bandits in the northern Rift,” Irkand replied mildly. “Some of them spilled over into Falkreath Hold – Thrynn’s band, to be precise – and a band of Stormcloaks under Ulfric’s favourite Ralof were sent to clean them up.”

            “The Stormsword,” Brynjolf said flatly. “She used similar tactics in Markarth – sponsored the Silver-Bloods to go slaughter camps of Reachfolk and when we retaliated, it was used as justification to massacre us wholesale.”

            Irkand’s smile was chilly. “She’s nothing if not predictable if you’re aware of Talos’ military strategies.”

            “The Stormcloaks are blaming the Dunmer of Windhelm for all sorts of things,” Karliah added in her sleepy contralto. “But are you sure she betrayed the Blades? Her father’s more likely to have done it, given his paranoia.”

            “One or the other, it’s still the same to me,” Irkand said grimly. “Innocent people have died because of the Stormsword. Yes, I know, we’re not a charitable organisation by any means. But one way to unite a people is to find an outside enemy and Eastmarch isn’t ready for a rebellion, so that leaves criminals. I have no love for the Empire but…”

            “They leave us alone,” Vex finished. “I’d’ve thought you’d be all ‘praise Talos’ with the Stormcloaks, Irkand.”

            “I never much liked Talos as a god. I’m angrier over the deaths of my friends and family,” Irkand countered. “To the best of my knowledge, Ralinde, Celende and Callaina had nothing to do with the treason.”

            “Look, what happened to yer folks is sad, but why should the Guild get involved?” Delvin asked quite reasonably. “If she worries you so much, just frame the woman and get on with your day.”

            “Why frame her when she’s got written proof of her actions?” Brynjolf asked.

            All eyes turned to him. “You know this how?” Gallus asked with a raised eyebrow.

            “Every few months, I like to stop by the Palace of the Kings and steal a few things. Consider it wergild for my family,” the young man said with a nonchalant shrug. “Ulfric keeps his papers in his safe in his bedroom and the Stormsword has hers in a little chest by her bedside table.”

            “You didn’t think to share this with us before we made you Day Master?” Gallus asked, his other eyebrow rising.

            “Why? It’s not like I’m stealing heirlooms from the walls.” Brynjolf shrugged again. “I didn’t think to help myself to some papers. Sorry about that, Irkand.”

            “It’s alright,” the Redguard said calmly.

            “Whether we frame her or steal the evidence from her, we’d need to move very fast,” Gallus finally said. “I’m not sure we’ve got that kind of speed at the moment. Our fortunes waned during and after the Great War and we’re still rebuilding.”

            Before Irkand or Brynjolf could object, he raised his hand to forestall them. “I’m not saying it’s not a good idea. I’m just saying this kind of job will require meticulous timing, fast horses and Nocturnal’s own luck. We’d need influence in at least three or four Holds to pull this off.”

            Brynjolf groaned. “Piddling little jobs for pissants?”

            Gallus smiled. “Yes, lad. Consider it preparation for the heist of the decade.”

            When Delvin and Brynjolf had been sent back to the Cistern, Gallus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The other reason is because Sigdrifa Stormsword has control over Eastmarch by dint of being Ulfric’s wife and mother to his children. She can react as fast as we can act.”

            Irkand rubbed his chin. “So let’s mitigate that power. Ulfric’s served his time for Markarth, don’t you think?”

            Gallus grinned. “For someone with poor social skills, you have a good understanding of relationship dynamics, Irkand.”

            “Oh, I just remember the Stormsword’s rage at having to bow her head to others,” the Redguard said serenely. “Angry people make mistakes and we want her to make many.”

            “That’s what I love about you,” Vex said with something resembling a smile. “You can weaponise _anything_.”

            “You love someone?” Karliah asked dryly.

            “I love all of you,” Vex said a little defensively. Then she flushed. “Err, as friends.”

            Gallus studied her and Irkand. “Is that all?”

            “You and Karliah are exclusive. I am many things but I’m not an adulterer,” Irkand said softly.

            Gallus heard a history in those words. He exchanged glances with Karliah, felt the shadows within shift, and realised that they’d been a foursome in all but name for several years.

            “It’s not adultery if we’re all on board with it.”


End file.
